Evil is as Evil Does
by Little Doctor
Summary: Greetings Magical Britain. I am Lord Voldemort, and today we will be learning about my freedom march of 1981. Follow Voldemort's struggle to change Magical Britain's views on basically anything, and his attempts to mold Quirrell into a halfway decent teacher. Parody, crack fic, coherent!Voldemort, confused!Harry
1. Voldemort has an unusual monologue

Summary: Greetings Magical Britain, I am Lord Voldemort, and today, we will be learning about my freedom march of 1981. Follow Voldemort's struggle to change Magical Britain's views on- basically anything, and his attempts to mold Quirrell into a halfway decent teacher. Parody, crack fic, coherent!Voldemort, confused!Harry

 **Author's Note: I've just reread the Seventh Horcrux, so you know where this is coming from. If anyone would like to beta, please PM me.**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine**

Chapter 1: In which Voldemort has an unusual monologue

* * *

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?"

Dear Merlin. It was only 9:30 and Voldemort needed a drink.

* * *

Contrary to what most people think, I am a reasonable man. My beliefs are quite progressive compared to most of Magical Britain. Creature's Rights was one of the founding tenets of my movement, and I have always wished for freedom of the pursuit of knowledge. It still amazes me that Rubeus Hagrid, a half-giant, to this day, has not joined in any of my protests. Of course, there was that one incident in sixth year, but, to be fair, he was raising an XXXXX beast under his bed.

Let's get back to our point, I am a reasonable, if slightly unstable man. My efforts to change Britain legally were violently stamped out by Albus Dumbledore, my old foe and conservative extraordinaire. Face it, for all his talk about Muggleborn Rights and such, he's the head of the Wizengamot, if squat isn't being done, who're we pointing at?

Imagine this, a brilliant recent Hogwarts graduate applies for the DADA position. He has a spotless record, and he's obviously great with kids. The old DADA professor has just retired, and the only other option isn't worth mentioning at all.

The great Albus Dumbledore picked the other option. So, the cursing of that position was based purely on rational thinking. Dumbledore would eventually run out of candidates, so he'd have to pick me. Of course, looking back on this all, I probably should've changed the hex so that it'd curse all applicants except me the minute they walked in the Headmaster's office, but hindsight is 20/20. Then again, that would probably have alerted Dumbledore to the fact that the position was cursed and as far as I know, he hasn't discovered the curse yet. If he did, why would he keep hiring new professors instead of hiring a team of skilled curse breakers to fix his problem.

This doesn't matter, though, at last I have obtained the much coveted position(well, not anymore) of the Defense Against the Dark Arts post! After all these years, I will be the one giving detentions, taking points, and and assigning essays.

My success will be complete once that imbecile follows my instructions. You see, I will not actually be doing the teaching myself. My method of securing immortality is slightly flawed, but after wandering the woods of Albania for years, I was able to regain a partial form of living, thereby enabling me return to my first dream- teaching.

To kill two birds with one stone, Quirinus helpfully volunteered to help me secure true immortality and teach, that is, if he is capable of carrying out orders. I, obviously, will be writing all of the lesson plans and such, but he must successfully convey all that information to groups of children. The second stage of this plan was rendered almost dangerously unusable once Quirinus insisted on adding that bloody stutter. He says it fits the character, or some other rubbish.

His stutter has been giving me headaches all day every day, and I can't even complain to anyone about them because the turban stops all communication. I should know- I have already attempted to commiserate with my fellow unfortunates today. I just heard young Harry Potter speak to Quirinus. So, once Quirinus stopped mumbling, I said, "Merlin's beard, his stutter gives me the most awful headache, wouldn't you agree, young Harry?"

I was sorely tempted to cuss Quirinus out for it, but it wouldn't be professional to swear in front of my future student and colleague.

Harry jerked his head up.

"Somethin' wrong, Harry?" the imbecilic protest-unfriendly gamekeeper asked. Really, if he joined my crusade he'd probably already have better living conditions- it's common knowledge that he lives on the outskirts of Hogwarts in a miniscule hut with only the Forbidden Forest for company. I haven't the slightest idea why he sides with those who'd put him there. It's classic oppression- tell the victim that you're helping them, provide them with minimal resources, and bam, they're on your side! This is one of the many things I intended to change once I became supreme leader of Magical Britain. Unfortunately, my dream was crushed by my bitter rival, Albus Dumbledore, but I'm sure once I begin teaching, I'll help the children understand this point of view.

"I just thought I heard something, never mind."

So, Harry was ignoring me. Two could play at that game.

"Isn't Quirinus' moronic muttering just aggravating, Diggle? If I have to hear any more of it, I think I just might have to kill someone."

My joke wasn't bad for a socially-isolated former dark lord who'd just spent ten years speaking a different language(it's extremely infuriating to converse with dimwitted serpents who don't know a wand from a handbag).

Harry whipped his head around, eyes wide with confusion.

"What is it, Harry?" Hagrid asked again.

"Can we go now? I'm feeling uncomfortable," Harry whispered.

I feel like I should take offense to that.


	2. Quirrell vs The Stone

**AN: It has been a while. I read a review by GardenOfSnow and decided that this had been left on its own for far too long. I'll try to do a third chapter soon, but I'm pretty flaky with this stuff. This is a really short chapter, so you guys get an excerpt from Albania! :)))))))))**

 **Also, shameless self-advertising, but check out my other HP fics which include 'Tom Riddle- Wandmaker Extraordinaire', featuring a Voldemort that sees the obvious when confronted with an obviously immortal Ollivander, and 'Dumbledore and the Mirror of Erised' which details exactly what Dumbledore sees when he looks in the mirror.**

 **Thanks for reading this my awesome band of followers and reviewers!**

 **AN: Update- thanks to GardenofSnow for pointing out a mistake I had made about where Volde wants to go next.**

Chapter 2: Quirrell vs. the Stone

"Are y-y-you sure Hag-g-grid has the st-st-stone, master?" Quirinus murmured.

" _Of course I'm sure! We didn't spend twenty minutes loitering in Gringotts in order_ _not_ _to be sure!"_

You see, only a fool loiters at Gringotts. Goblins give the nastiest looks and hold the nastiest spears, and I felt we were cutting it a bit too close with the hasty exit after Hagrid and Harry followed their goblin guide. A purple turban is only so good a disguise, and everyone knows magic isn't allowed in the bank.

"I s-s-see him my lord. Shall I f-f-follow him f-f-for you?"

" _No, we cannot risk being seen. Go to Borgin and Burkes. I have some actual business to get done there,"_ I didn't actually, but I figured the odds of my bumbling minion following orders were higher if I added that.

"I will st-t-teal the stone for y-y-you master!"

" _I know, Quirinus. I am making you steal the stone for me. Why else would I deign to share a body with a stuttering idiot like you?"_

My statement was largely ignored as Quirinus began moving forward, away from Gringotts. I could tell because he started sweating under his turban, which he always does when he's nervous.

" _Quirinus! Your sweat is in my eye! Where are we going?!"_

"I will steal the st-t-tone for you master!"

Hagrid stood outside Madam Malkin's, holding two ice cream cones. I know this because I am an all-powerful ex-dark lord. Also, I am not above using Legilimency on my minions.

"It's p-p-perfect, my lord. I'll j-j-just take the st-t-tone out of his p-p-pocket," Quirinus stammered out, making everything ten times longer than it needed to be.

" _Even if you insist on adding that godawful stutter for show, you don't need to have it when you're talking to me._ _I_ _know you don't stutter,"_ I had little hope that this would work.

Quirinus was so focused on the stone that he didn't hear me. Or he was faking and thus proving his unreliability as a minion.

He reached for the Hagrid's pocket . . . and Hagrid turned to wave through the window.

"Bugger," Quirinus whispered.

" _You're thinking like a muggle,"_ I told him, " _If I wanted to possess a muggle, I would have!"_ Quirinus scowled. At least, I think he did. No one wants to be a muggle, not even the muggles.

"Accio stone!"

There was a pause, and a stone flew up and smacked Quirinus. Then another, and another, and another.

I would've laughed if our situation hadn't been so dire.

" _Finite,"_ I hissed, " _FINITE!"_

Apparently even I, the most powerful wizard in living memory, crusader of justice, can't use spells without a wand.

We were attracting attention.

"Finite you idiot! Finite!" I yelled.

"Finite!" Quirrell yelped.

The stones stopped attacking him and Hagrid turned around.

"Ye alrigh' there? Looks like one of 'em got stuck in your turban."

Quirrell apparated on the spot.

* * *

 **Excerpt** from a couple years ago in Albania . . .

 _"Tell me, what did I ask you to fetch?_ " I hissed, most displeased, to my servant.

" _A magic stick, my lord_ ," replied a young adder, already feeling guilty for his utter failure. At least, I thought he was young. What other possible excuse could he have for being such an incompetent minion?

" _And what is this_?"

" _Not a magic stick, venerable master._ "

I had been trying to teach my snake-servants the phrase 'venerable master' for weeks! The fact that one of them only used it now confirmed my suspicions that snakes were far cleverer than they seemed. If they were as loyal as they seemed, they should have already used this intelligence. Therefore, they were serving some other snake-possessing dark lord.

I levitated a stick with my sheer willpower. If I was in my former body, I would have Crucioed the fool for serving a different master already, but this would have to do.

" _You see this?_ " I asked.

The adder lowered his head in shame.

" _Yes venerable master."_

" _Prepare to suffer the consequences of failure."_

The stick lifted higher. The stick wobbled. The stick poked the adder in the tail, then collapsed. I frowned and attempted to lift it again, but my strength was spent.

I turned my back on the adder.

" _I have decided to grant you mercy today. Serve me well and you shall be rewarded with rats._ "

The adder lit up at this and quickly trailed away.


	3. The Great Hall

**AN: Wow, sometimes I surprise myself. Another chapter for you my lovelies! This one's really short, but I didn't want to combine it with the first day of classes.**

 **Thank you so much reviewers! That's what got me motivated to write this.**

Chapter 3: The Great Hall

I sunk down lower in my chair. This caused Quirrell's head to thunk to the back of the headrest. I smirked. He deserved that for the incident in Diagon Alley, and it was well worth the strange looks my fellow staff members were giving us.

After Quirrell hastily apparated away, we landed in the middle of some suburb called "Little Whinging." Some horse-faced _muggle_ screamed at the sight of us and ran into her house, blubbering about promises and freaks. Even in this form, I was clearly powerful enough to terrify muggles and their like. Yes, it was my ire that reduced her to tears. What else could it possibly be?

With great effort Quirrell pried his head off of the chair. I sighed and closed my eyes. Quirrell had proven particularly incompetent at third year defense material. He was such a procrastinator. I had given him seven days(one for each year), and he spent two of them sleeping!

It just wasn't proper teacher material.

This is one of the many things I shall change when I am the defense professor and maybe Dark Lord of Magical Britain.

Quirrell jerked his head forward again. At last, the Sorting was over.

"So," drawled an oily voice, "defense professor Quirrell? I didn't think you had it in you. Of course, there is only one who I would trust with that position."

Ah Snape, still defending my dreams even when he doesn't know I'm here. It pleased me immensely to see(or hear) such loyalty from a man living under Dumbledore's thumb for the past ten years.

"I w-w-was the best-t-t option," Quirrell stammered out.

"That was a disaster," I declared, "Quirrell, can't you keep your mouth shut? I have enough problems already without you making me look bad."

Snape's impressively developed passive aggression made several acrid remarks which my minion had attempted to respond to, but failed because he kept stuttering.

"B-but he d-d-doesn't know I serve y-you," Quirrell foolishly remarked, standing up for himself. As proud as I was that he learned self-confidence, I was disappointed that I was the first one he used it on.

"Don't underestimate Dumbledore," I warned.

"Dumbledore?"

"Yes, Dumbledore!" I snapped, "He is all-knowing. If you keep this up he might fire you."

Dumbledore wouldn't fire Quirrell; there were simply not enough job applicants, but I wasn't about to tell him that. My minions work better under pressure. Also, I detested that stutter.

I let Quirrell sit in shame for a few more minutes.

"Are you ready for tomorrow's lesson?" I asked. Even I am not so cruel as to deprive a man of teaching. Quirrell insisted that he could do this on his own, and I was inclined to give him the chance. He was, after all, a Ravenclaw. I would have been a bit more concerned if he was a Hufflepuff.

"Of course."


End file.
